Back to the World of Living

Much like my Florida counterpart who's been hobbled by maladies and forced to watch an inordinate amount of TV, I have been putting in a lot of quality time with my electric box lately. A few observations from the world of sports and beyond.

I thought of the name Stan Mikita without immediately thinking of Wayne's World for the first time in a long time today. And that's about all I needed to get fired up for the Blackhawks in the NHL Finals. I'm not fired up for the finals, mind you, just for the fact that a historic franchise is in there. Old-time hockey! Just like Eddie Shore.

To self-bashing Red Sox fans, Sox-bashing Yanks fans, self-bashing Yanks fans and self-bashing Mets' fans: Shut yer pie holes up already. We have almost 120 games left. Can we at least wait until mid-June until we decided if the sky is falling on our favorite teams or our rivals? The Sox are 2.5 games out of the wild-card spot, the Yanks are currently in the wild-card spot, and the Mets are 3.5 games out of the wild-card spot. Jeez.

To David Stern: your two-day "travel" break between games 2 and 3 was an abomination, especially because I was lying in a quasi-coma on Thursday and Friday nights, begging for some hoops to entertain me and my glassy eyes. I hope both conference finals series end in 4 or 5 games so we have an extended delay until the finals and we can all wallow in the assinineness that is your playoff scheduling policy.

30 Rock brought the goods again all season. This season also brought what may have been the funniest scene in the show's history - Tracy Jordan crying in the ghetto stairwell, talking about his memories of the building he grew up in:

I watched a prostitute stab a clown!
Our basketball hoop was a ribcage.
A puppy committed suicide when he saw our bathroom!
A pack of wild dogs took over and successfully ran a Wendy's.
I once saw a baby give another baby a tattoo! They were both very drunk.